Nothing's Gonna Change My World by Belladonna1472
by All You Need Is Love Contest
Summary: Jacob and Alice are the only survivors of the second battle with the Volturi. What do you do when you've lost all your loved ones?


**********Disclaimer**: All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.**  
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Song Inspiration: **Across the Universe  
**Title of One-Shot: **Nothing's Gonna Change My World  
**Pairing: **Jacob & Alice  
**POV: **Alice  
**Rating: **M  
**Word Count: **5,322  
**Summary or Description:** Jacob and Alice are the only survivors of the second battle with the Volturi. What do you do when you've lost all your loved ones?

**This one-shot is being posted in participation with the All You Need is Love contest hosted by Camoozle, Emerald_Rosalie, Lightstardusting & Miztrezboo.**  
**Please see the contest profile for full details.**

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**Nothing's Gonna Change My World**

**Alice's POV**

The apartment is still bare, except for an ageing fold-out couch and a stack of old Beatles records that the previous owner left behind in the living room. Several cardboard boxes of our belongings are also stacked near the front door. Neither of us is in any rush to unpack, or to furnish the place. We're both immortal and depressed – buying furniture is not a priority. Besides, interior decorating always makes me think of Esme, and God knows that I need a break from thinking about my family. It still hurts to think of them.

_Jasper,__ I miss you_.

It's not that I want to forget about them. I don't. But sometimes I wonder if it would be easier if I could just erase them from my memory. Jacob feels the same way about the people he's lost, especially when it comes to Nessie. We're haunted by their absence.

It's been fifty years since most of our loved ones were killed in the second battle with the Volturi. Everyone else we care about – Jacob's immediate family, for instance – has also passed away since then.

The both of us still suffer from survivor's guilt. It's hard to live.

We signed the lease two days ago, putting an end to our respective periods of either living in the woods or living abroad. Jacob isn't happy that we're pretending to be married this time around, but I keep telling him that the Rochester property market is otherwise tough to navigate. I also convinced him to cut his hair. Realtors are fickle beings – that hasn't changed– and this way we made a decent impression, counteracting our youthful appearances. If anyone asks, the both of us received life insurance payouts from the deaths in our respective families. It's not like we can tell people that I have an accumulated fortune due to my extended lifespan and psychic ability.

"_Alice_, are you listening?" Jacob asks in irritation.

He's standing by the window, looking at the morning sky as if it's supposed to offer him inspiration or something. It's overcast and it's already starting to drizzle. He turns to face me, and I give him a weary look. My guess is that he said something about living in Rochester; he's already complained multiple times about the fact that my vampire status prevents us from moving anywhere more interesting. I always remind him that he also needs to be near the woods, and that he's free to leave if he's unhappy. This is a reminder that always makes him roll his eyes.

"Sorry, what did you say?" I ask.

He frowns at how forlorn I sound. I can't help but get annoyed at him for his reaction – he's just as sad as I am. He should understand how awful it feels to have to relocate somewhere, only to have nothing really change in the grand scheme of things. Sure, I'm a vampire who's been alive far longer than he has, but he knows that no matter where we settle, the sorrow still defines us. We've got nothing to run to, and nothing to hope for.

"I've changed my mind. I don't think I want to enroll at the local college," he explains, frustrated at our situation.

"Okay. You could get a job, maybe." I shrug in a defeated manner. I, myself, haven't decided what to do. We didn't plan this move as meticulously as our previous relocations, a result of apathy more than anything. I don't know whether I want to go through the charade of seeking higher education once again. I've closed myself off from the world. I don't see the point in meeting new people or learning new things.

I can understand another factor which must be making Jacob hesitate. Nessie, after fully maturing in seven years, enrolled in high school in Anchorage. Tragically, she didn't survive to finish her senior year. She never even earned _one_ high school diploma, and here we are discussing whether we want to add yet another college degree to our collection.

Jacob sits down on the floorboards and stares at me without pretense. We're often on opposite sides of the room. Though time has helped, I still smell sickly sweet to him. Conversely, when I do breathe, I still find his scent to be relatively unpleasant. We haven't lived together for over ten years, so we need to become accustomed to each other again. Familiarity and the fear of loneliness bring us together – only we can truly fathom the other creature's grief. We always try to pick a place that gives us enough space to coexist comfortably.

We used to always choose houses, sometimes living in completely separate wings or stories. But now the space bothers us – too much emptiness. We picked an apartment this time. The building is surprisingly very close to the woodlands. It may have been a hotel or a resort back in the day.

"College…Yeah, I don't know," Jacob muses again, before biting his lip. "I might change my mind again tomorrow. Late admission shouldn't be a problem."

I nod. It's not like I can foresee his future. I've never been able to. My own future has gone blank; it disappears when a shape-shifter gets involved. I don't care much these days, though. I used to care when I feared that the Volturi was tracking me; I stayed far away from Jacob at those times. But things changed a while back. Now there's probably nothing interesting to see in my future. In some ways it's a relief to be disabled in this context. Not knowing what's going to happen next can sometimes be liberating.

Of course, it can also lead to disaster.

Following the tragedy, Jacob held a grudge against me for many years. Various reasons compelled him to feel this way, some personal and some not. For a while, he blamed the entire vampire species for the obliteration of his happiness, even though his own Nessie had been half-vampire. The other key sticking point was that I was unable to stop the massacre. He didn't understand how the Volturi could have circumvented my visions so expertly. I still blame myself occasionally, but I don't apologize to anyone anymore. My existence is how I repent.

My mind is a messed up place, I assure you. Edward would suffer from crippling migraines if he were here with us.

"I'll be in my room if you need me," I declare.

There's nothing in my room, but I figure I should give Jacob some personal space. He keeps looking over to the window with that same expression. The drizzle has turned into rain, and the rain reminds us of Forks, somewhere we won't be able to return for at least another twenty years. We can't risk someone recognizing us. And even if we could return, we probably wouldn't. It's too connected to the past. The last time Jacob contacted someone back in Forks was when Charlie Swan passed away. Jacob has snuck back to the town and the reservation a few times over the last twenty years, but he never speaks of what he saw there.

Sometimes I try to imagine what he did see; the changes to the place. But the mental images I conjure often morph into memories, and the last time, I recalled foreseeing Bella jumping off that cliff.

_Bella_. She gave up her human life, only to be destroyed a decade later.

"I might go out," Jacob tells me. I don't miss the sudden sense of purpose in his voice, however muted it may be. "Don't worry about organizing lunch for me."

I glance over at the bag of groceries he bought for himself this morning. "My cooking of human food has improved, you know," I assert.

"You can cook tomorrow," he says, affording me a false sense of domesticity. He stares at me with obvious concern. "Your eyes are black. You should hunt tonight."

"I promise I will," I assure him.

I'll think of Carlisle tonight – I'm still a vegetarian vampire. He might be gone, but this part of his legacy is intact. I'll remember Emmett, too, and how grizzly bears were his favorite prey.

Jacob gets up, grabs his keys off the kitchen counter and walks over to the door. He doesn't bother with a jacket, a side benefit of his body temperature. Just before he leaves, he sighs and gives me an apologetic look.

"Do you need anything? Any errands I should run?" he asks, sounding guilty that he didn't already ask.

I shake my head. "Enjoy your day out, Jake," I say sincerely. "Don't worry about me."

He pauses, and I know that he's thinking about inviting me along. I turn around and rush to my room with vampire speed. I don't want him to invite me out of pity. Seconds later, I hear the click of the front door closing and the sound of his retreating footsteps.

I'm alone again.

***

_Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind  
Possessing and caressing me  
Jai guru deva, om_

***

That night, I return from hunting to find that Jacob has finally figured out how to set up the record player that he bought during the day. He expended a considerable amount of time scouring stores that sold antiquities, and came up lucky at a family owned shop on the outskirts of Rochester. He keeps expressing outrage at the fact someone has abandoned all their Beatles records – collector's items, he emphasizes – but their trash is apparently our treasure. I'm glad he's found something to occupy his time.

I'm also impressed that he managed to find the right type of player. Jacob's so buzzed by his success that he's switching records before each song is through, wanting to sample everything as soon as possible.

"Electricity conversion was a bit of a bitch, but I worked it out," Jacob says excitedly as I approach. He's crouching down in the corner of the room, perusing the music library for his next selection. "You remember this song, right? You lived through the 1960s."

I force a smile; I'm still queasy from drinking so much blood. "You've always been good at fixing things up," I comment.

"Did you drink too much?" he inquires good-naturedly. It is good to see his warm smile.

"I suppose I overdid it," I admit. I drank mindlessly tonight. The equivalent of bingeing, I suppose.

I sit down on the couch. Jacob no longer finds it creepy if I'm motionless at times. I don't always bother to keep up the pretenses of acting human – things like shifting every now and then. He understands that I'm not as social as I was before.

"Did you like the sixties?" he asks.

I tense ever so slightly. I don't usually talk about the distant past; I'm no longer a fan of nostalgia. I'm glad I chose not to accompany him on his hunt for the record player; every antique has personal history, and I spend a lot of my time trying to deal with mine. It's not like I can sleep. When I do bring up the past, it's usually to highlight that I'm older than him, something which I tend use as leverage in an argument. I have more life experience.

I'm reluctant to dampen his good spirits. "Yes, I did like that decade," I share. "It was a time of change and upheaval, though."

"Yeah, true." He lifts the needle and switches records. "You know, for a moving-in day, today wasn't so bad," he confesses.

"I agree," I say, even if I don't really believe it. There have been worse days, I suppose.

I think we both know that the distraction is only temporary. The novelty will wear off. At least Jacob is truly enjoying the moment. All I can think about is how depressing it is that Jasper had the power to sense and manipulate feelings. I wish he were here to help me fight my grief…but if he were here, I wouldn't be so sad in the first place.

I watch the black vinyl record go round and round on the turntable. It's hypnotizing if you let yourself lose focus.

I'm tired of finding distractions.

_***_

_Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box  
They tumble blindly as they make their way  
Across the universe_

_***_

Jacob goes out the next day and tracks down some Beatles memorabilia. He puts up a large poster on the living room wall, a monochrome image of the four band members. I can see John, Paul, George and Ringo from where I'm standing in the kitchen. I keep looking up at the poster – it's the only decorative thing we've done with the place. It's like we've invited four old friends to be a part of our lives again.

I've been to Liverpool, England, where the band hailed from. I traveled there with Jasper once, during a particularly brutal English winter, for one of our many honeymoons. You can still go on sightseeing tours where a guide will take you to places like Strawberry Field, but these days the tour numbers are obviously lower than they used to be. It's almost been a century since the Beatles were at their peak. Beatlemania might be something that's archived in old video footage, but the foursome still acquires new fans as time goes on. In a way, they are as immortal as I am.

"Dinner's ready," I call out. I've prepared a meal of steamed fish and garden salad for him.

"Bring it here, Mrs. Black," he says jokingly as I walk into the living room with his plate.

Concentrating on the aroma of food, he invites me to sit on the couch with him while he eats. I look down to find a stack of books on the floor near where I'm sitting, a collection of second-hand titles on The Beatles. Books are another thing that have stood the test of time; I think it's nice that the written word is revered century after century.

I select one of the titles. The pages have yellowed and it's obviously been read many times – there are several dog-eared pages, and in some places the previous owner has annotated the text, adding their own commentary in the margins. I flick through the paperback and stop at one of the dog-eared pages. It's a chapter on John Lennon.

"I've been thinking again," Jacob says in between mouthfuls. "I might look into studying something new."

"Sounds good," I reply. "We can look at the brochures together."

He throws the spotlight back on me. "So, you're going to study with me? You're not going to look for a job? You said you were tired of learning."

If I were human, I would be fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know yet," I say. "I'm still thinking."

"Have you _actually_ been thinking about it?" he questions, daring to go there.

"Let's not talk about it now," I insist.

He stares at me, something he's been doing a lot recently. Part of me suspects that he wants to ask if I'm suicidal – a discussion we have every five years or so. He terms it suicide even though I've technically already died once. My response is always the same. Since the Volturi no longer wish to collect me, they would probably destroy me if I asked, or if I forced their hand. But when others die to save you, how can you waste their sacrifice by seeking the assistance of the vampires who killed them? I won't do it.

Arguments about our continued existence are always deeply personal. Our most confrontational argument was when he offered to destroy me if that's what I wanted. That is, he would rip me apart and burn the pieces. We were both crippled with grief at the time, almost incapacitated. He was living in his wolf form, mostly. I told him he was being ridiculous. I would never let him do that to me, and I would never agree to kill him, either.

I leave the room, taking the book with me.

***

_Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup  
They slither wildly as they slip away _

_Across the universe_

***

He says my name in the middle of the night. I can hear him from my room, but I don't move until he repeats it more forcefully. I'm just making sure that he isn't dreaming. I take my time, walking to the living room at human pace. I don't bother turning the light on when I get there, either – there's sufficient moonlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains. The both of us have good night vision, anyway.

"What's wrong?" I ask, keeping my distance.

"I just want to talk," he says. "Take a seat."

He's folded out the couch, and he's lying on it diagonally because of his height. I sit down on the corner that isn't occupied by his feet. I don't face him as we talk.

"I can smell the lime juice on your dress," he comments. "From dinner."

I accidentally splashed lime juice on myself when I was cooking earlier. I didn't get changed for two reasons. First, unpacking my wardrobe always makes me think of Rosalie. She wouldn't be pleased by how simple my apparel is these days. Second, it might distract Jacob from my natural scent, even though he keeps insisting that he's dealing with it better than ever.

"I couldn't be bothered changing," I explain, fingering the hem of the cotton tunic I'm wearing. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I might come to the woods with you the next time you hunt," he begins. "I haven't phased in a week now."

I wonder if he's missing living as a wolf. "Okay, sure."

"It's weird though. I still think about ageing sometimes. I don't know how long it would take to begin ageing again," he ponders. "It could mean not phasing for quite a while."

It's a discussion we've had before. He could've simply stopped phasing after everything happened, and gone back to living as a human. But he could never bring himself to follow through, reverting to lengthy periods where he lived in wolf form. Being a wolf is just so innate to him; he can't deny it. Sometimes he still gets angry that the transformation happened in the first place – it was my family's presence in Forks that triggered it – but those reflections are just an expression of his general frustration.

"Do you want to age?" I ask.

"In some ways I want to move on, but I'm still not convinced that it's a good idea to age physically," he laments. "It's been half a century since the battle. Part of me dreams about giving up the phasing, to just go back to being a human. Maybe I could use a college degree to actually start a career. But what's the point? I won't meet anyone. I can't let go of Nessie. I definitely think it would be a stupid idea to have children."

I don't know how to respond to these admissions, though I've heard versions of his thoughts before. He can't imagine continuing his bloodline, not when vampires still exist. He doesn't want anyone else to experience what he's gone through.

"Alice, you should do something with your time," he advises. "You were the one who told me in the early years that I had to keep occupied. Go to school with me or something. It scares me that you don't plan on doing anything. I know you've lived in Rochester before, but that was ages ago. It's a different place now."

He sits up and shuffles closer to where I'm sitting. I should've expected that we would have a heart-to-heart at some stage. This always happens when we go back to living together.

"I'll figure something out," I whisper.

"Well, okay," he says unsurely.

He waits a minute before changing the subject. His breathing becomes a bit labored, and I wonder if he's about to cry, or whether it's just anxiety.

"Do you ever wonder if Jasper would judge you for not trying to be happy?" he asks in a broken voice. "Because sometimes I think Nessie would be upset with me for not trying harder. I mean, we get by, but we're definitely not happy."

From the corner of my eye, I see in the darkness that his hand is hovering over my shoulder; he's unsure if touching me is a good idea. It's a gesture of comfort, to put your hand on someone's shoulder, but physical contact between the two of us is always strange. I feel so cold and hard to him, and he feels too heated to me. He decides to place his hand on my shoulder anyway, and I instantly feel the warmth.

"Sometimes I wonder if Jasper is okay that I'm continuing to live in a world where he doesn't exist," I admit, though I'm not really answering Jacob's question. "You remember when Edward thought Bella was dead…"

I trail off, remembering how traumatic that experience was for the both of us.

Jacob doesn't remove his hand. I can feel the pulse in his wrist; I guess it's natural for me to be aware of another creature's blood flow.

"I'm sure you know this," I add, "but when you become a vampire, your human memories aren't clear anymore. The transformation affects them. But vampire memories…I remember everything. It's a burden."

I don't even know why I'm saying what I'm saying. It's like I'm talking for the sake of sharing something, anything, in order to connect with another creature.

"Sometimes I deliberately try to remember how it felt to love Bella – she's the only person I loved before I imprinted," he reveals. "I know that's kind of screwed up, because she's Nessie's mom. But my mind went there because I wanted to know whether it's possible to love again after the person you imprinted on dies."

I move my shoulder. I'm actually trying to relax, but Jacob interprets it as panic from my end. He quickly pulls away his hand.

"Oh Alice! I'm not trying to tell you that I love you," he says hastily.

"I _know_ that," I reply, finally looking over my shoulder to look at him. "Calm down."

He exhales. "Anyway, I don't think it's possible to love again. I'm sure it's the same way with you. Jasper was your soulmate."

"Yes, he was."

There's phantom heat on my shoulder from where Jacob's hand was. I wonder if my senses are going haywire.

"I'm lonely," he says, stating the obvious.

I sigh. "I know. Me too."

He shifts on the bed again, inching closer. He shocks me with what he does next, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I kind of feel like he's taking advantage of the blind spot in my visions. I can't stop him from embracing me. He's hugging me from behind, and before I know it, he's sobbing like a child. He's looking to our left, resting his head on the back of my mine, his salty tears running down the back of neck and onto my cotton dress. I'm enveloped in his warmth and his sorrow.

"Oh, you're so cold," he says between sobs. He gasps for air a few times.

"Sorry," I whisper. For my temperature. For everything.

I don't think of this as a werewolf hugging a vampire. It's Jacob. We're friends. We care about each other.

I'm sure he can sense right now that I am perfectly still and not breathing. His act is a display of raw human emotion, and yet in this moment, I'm not pretending to be human.

"You smell painfully sweet this close up," he says in a hushed tone. He hisses before trying to ignore the scent.

I don't know what to do. He's clutching onto me like a lifebuoy.

"Fuck, I wish you were human right now," he cries.

"You just want to hold someone human?" I surmise. There's no judgment in my voice. Maybe my voice is empty – robotic, even.

He could find someone human to hold onto, but he won't entertain that notion. It would be meaningless, he says.

His next words break me, even though I've heard it all before.

"No one else understands what happened to me," he says in a hoarse whisper.

"Likewise," I reply.

It's a one-word response, but it's appropriate. No one else on this earth will ever be capable of comprehending what happened to us.

I'm glad it's dark; this would be far more uncomfortable if we could see each other clearly. The embrace is a bit disturbing. It's the sort of thing that you only allow out of desperation and despair.

He kisses the back of my head. The contact lingers long after he removes his lips from my hair. I tell myself that it was chaste. Either way, it's still disturbing.

The two of us are probably thinking the same thing. We're doomed to be creatures who are each other's natural enemy. We can never truly use each other for comfort – the kind of sexual comfort that humans indulge in an attempt to forget their pain. That type of comfort is transitory, and we both know that. It would only make us feel worse after the deed is done. Hell, I think that if we tried to do it, we'd probably break down before finishing. I've imagined it, and I hate myself for imagining it. My coolness and his heat together…Surely the act would be repulsive. I'm too scared to make any concessions on that point, because if I start to contemplate whether it would work, whether it would make me feel better even for a short period of time, then I'm already too far gone. To use him like that would equate to surrender, an acceptance that my existence is just that unbearable.

So, it's a blessing that we're condemned to this reality. This way we can't betray anyone. It's _meant_ to be inconceivable.

It's nice to be held – I haven't been held in a very, very long time – but I think it's better for our friendship if we keep our boundaries. I slowly lean forward, indicating that I want him to let go of me. He obliges, and I know that he's embarrassed about his meltdown.

"Jesus, Alice, I'm so sorry," he apologizes, clearly distressed. He leaps off the bed and goes over to open the window. He wants fresh air.

And distance.

If we lived in a house, I have no doubt that he would've jumped out the window by now. He would run for the woods, for the sanctuary of letting his wolf mentality take over.

At least he can transform into something else.

I don't have that privilege.

***

_Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes  
They call me on and on _

_Across the universe _

_***_

The following day is awkward for the both of us. We don't talk about what happened during the night. Jacob listens to his music and researches what college course he wants to take. I sit on the other side of the room, on the floor, and read his books.

He won't look me in the eye.

Jacob gets up off the couch to change the record that's playing. He puts on _Across the Universe_, a song that I don't particularly want to listen to. I figure it's not worth arguing about, so I don't say anything.

It's the refrain that bothers me every time Jacob plays it. I glance up at the poster on the wall; I feel like mouthing the word 'sorry' to John, Paul, George and Ringo. I'm sure that if they knew me, they would understand. When I hear the line 'Nothing's gonna change my world' over and over, I can't help but feel unsettled. Nothing_ is_ going to change my world; it was altered after the second battle and it's been pretty much the same ever since. It'll never change.

But when I quickly glance at Jacob, I realize that maybe I'm wrong. We lock eyes for a millisecond before he looks away

I'm scared of change. I don't mean change as in relocating to another city. I'm referring to change of another sort, the type that tilts the axis of your world upside down, something that does not make any sense, and never will. I'm familiar with the status quo, as miserable as it is at times. I know my own grief; it is not a stranger to me.

He knows that I saw what he's trying to hide from me.

The knowledge makes me want to protect the world as I know it. Maybe I want to care more about this life. Maybe I just never thought it could get worse.

Jacob looks up at the Beatles poster as if the four men are the intermediary in the room. The song keeps playing and my patience begins to thin.

Finally, I snap.

"Jacob," I say harshly, finally channeling the monster within me. "You should get out for awhile. Go to the forest. Phase. Run. Something. Do anything. Take care of it. Or go find a human to help you take care of it. Just don't look at me like that. It's like seeing Carlisle with red eyes!"

He stands up slowly. I notice that he's shaking, like he's out of control and about to phase involuntarily. He's not going to, though. He's just rattled; very agitated and very confused.

He heads for the door without hesitation, grabbing his keys off the counter. He whips around and decides to defend himself before he flees. I instantly avert my gaze, frightened of his eyes.

"I'd rather die than act on it. I wouldn't do that to you!" he exclaims, sounding unhinged. "It's temporary, Alice. I'm lonely."

Jacob stalks out the apartment, and I hear wood splinter as he slams the door behind him. I go to the window to watch him run across the yard as he heads for the woods. He won't be bothered by the rain. I close the curtains, too horrified to watch him any longer.

Vampires have perfect recall. I won't forget what just happened anytime soon.

Lust.

There's lust in Jacob's eyes.

***

_Nothing's gonna change my world  
Nothing's gonna change my world  
Nothing's gonna change my world  
Nothing's gonna change my world_

_***_

Jacob returns three days later. He finds me sitting on the couch, reading a biography on John Lennon.

I didn't unpack while he was gone. I didn't buy new furniture, either. I kept everything the same.

I've been playing _Across the Universe_ on loop for hours now. I keep repeating the refrain in my head, like a mantra that will help me preserve the world I know. But I think it's too late.

I know it's too late.

"Alice," Jacob says in a brave voice, approaching me slowly.

I don't know what to say, so I don't look up.

"Alice," he says more insistently. "Alice, please. I'm trying to explain myself. I think I should leave for good."

I finally look up at him.

There's still lust in his eyes.

And now he can see that there's lust in mine too.

He's transfixed. I see the reflection of my own torment.

He made me think about it as a possibility. The thought of sleeping together is macabre, but I'm that far gone. I'm that broken. I'm that desperate for a connection.

_No one else understands what happened to me._

Jacob said he'd rather die than go through with it. I should say the same thing.

But I can't.

I can't say the same thing.

I can't say I'd rather die.

_Jasper,__ I'm sorry, but I'm already dead._

I'm already dead.


End file.
